The Little Hours Jun 2026

Ten years from now, historians will look back at The Little Hours as the definitive comedy of the mid-2010s—a decade defined by political rage, sexual fluidity, and the collapse of institutional trust. It is a film that argues there is no sacred, only the profane pretending to be holy.

The nuns of the convent—played by Aubrey Plaza, Alison Brie, and Molly Shannon—are a whirlwind of repressed energy and escalating chaos. Each sister struggles with her own version of boredom, sexual frustration, or existential dread. Sister Fernanda (Plaza) is aggressive and volatile, Sister Alessandra (Brie) longs for a life of domestic luxury outside the stone walls, and Sister Genevra (Shannon) is a nosy gossip. When the "deaf-mute" gardener arrives, he becomes the focal point for their various obsessions, leading to a series of drug-induced hallucinations, secret trysts, and pagan rituals.

Baena’s adaptation is surprisingly loyal to the spirit of Boccaccio, even if the language is modernized. In the original text, the gardener posing as a mute is a classic trope of trickery. Baena retains the narrative skeleton but injects it with a distinctively modern neurosis. By having the actors speak in contemporary vernacular—dropping F-bombs and discussing therapy-like grievances—he bridges the gap between the medieval and the modern. The Little Hours

The Little Hours, Jeff Baena, Aubrey Plaza, Alison Brie, Dave Franco, The Decameron, Boccaccio, convent comedy, cult classic, historical satire.

We meet Sister Fernanda (Aubrey Plaza), Sister Alessandra (Alison Brie), and Sister Ginevra (Kate Micucci). They are not holy. They are bored. They gossip viciously, practice witchcraft, poison a teenage boy for calling them ugly, and openly despise their new convent leader, Sister Mafia (Molly Shannon). Ten years from now, historians will look back

The core brilliance of The Little Hours lies in its tonal dissonance. It is a film that is at once a medieval period drama and a modern, R-rated hangout movie. The dialogue, while set against a backdrop of rustic beauty and religious iconography, is pure contemporary vulgarity. Aubrey Plaza’s Sister Fernanda delivers lines like “I’m going to fuck you up with witchcraft!” with the same fervent rage as a character from Parks and Recreation .

The film stands as a singular achievement: a medieval nun comedy that is filthy, hilarious, surprisingly thoughtful about faith and repression, and deeply humane in its portrayal of flawed, desperate women. It takes a dusty literary classic and transforms it into a rowdy, foul-mouthed party that respects its source material’s core themes while gleefully trashing its solemnity. The Little Hours is not for the prudish or the pious, but for anyone who appreciates the anarchic joy of watching sacred cows being led to a very profane slaughter. Each sister struggles with her own version of

One of the most fascinating aspects of The Little Hours is its source material. The film is loosely based on two stories from The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, written in the mid-14th century. Boccaccio’s work was a collection of 100 tales told by ten young people sheltering from the Black Death. It was ribald, earthy, and often critical of the clergy.

What follows is a spiraling farce of seduction, jealousy, and witchcraft, all set against the sun-drenched, earthen backdrop of rural Italy.

Of course, the plan backfires spectacularly. The nuns, particularly the hot-headed Fernanda and the curious Alessandra, soon become obsessed with the handsome, silent gardener. Their repressed desires erupt in a series of increasingly chaotic encounters. Fernanda’s attempts to seduce him range from clumsy aggression to outright physical assault, while Alessandra uses him as a pawn in her petty rivalries. The film’s central comic engine is Massetto’s desperate, silent panic as he is dragged into closets, threatened, seduced, and forced to listen to the nuns’ most profane confessions—all while maintaining his mute charade.

The plot thickens when Massetto (Dave Franco), a young servant, flees his master after being caught in a compromising position with the master’s wife. To escape death, he disguises himself as a deaf-mute and seeks refuge at the convent. The Mother Superior (Molly Shannon) agrees to take him in as a gardener, believing his disability will prevent the sort of temptation that usually spells trouble for the sisters. She is, of course, spectacularly wrong.